


Untitled Rambling Victory Ficlet Thing

by betterrecieved



Category: Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betterrecieved/pseuds/betterrecieved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See title.  This was Untitled Rambling Separate Paths Things but I mean to put Victory! Sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Rambling Victory Ficlet Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks anon. I kinda like this so Imma post it here.

Agron  keeps on kissing Nasir’s hair, making his way down to his forehead, his nose, his cheeks (And Nasir still has baby-fat, because he is barely grown, barely begun living.  If Agron had _known_ , if he had only known the future, that he would be risking his _baby_ \- but how could he not love Nasir?  How could he not fall so deep that into those big brown trusting eyes, so deep and so caught and so _utterly_ that Nasir is his only fear, his only weakness, his _only._ ) . 

Finds that trembling mouth that is turned away from him, hiding from him,  presses his lips against it, just presses and presses and presses until Nasir is melting, stroking Agron’s chest in the places that he’s sure won’t hurt him. 

Because that’s how Nasir is, that’s _what_ Nasir is, tenderness incarnate, the flip side of his wild-eyed screaming death-dealing grimace upon field of battle.  Seeking out Agron’s tender places, with delicacy, with care like a mother, five-fingered loving stroking and petting and how could Agron live with himself if?

But he will die soon, a mercy he does not deserve, but needs, because Nasir will never leave him now (Only way he will go from Agron is if spear or sword impales him, his eyes going huge, searching for Agron, his Agron, his Agron, his Agron, gods return his Agron and never mind death, the fear he once held for himself is now only for Agron.  And his Agron cradling him, soothing him into the final death, the way he soothes him through the small trembling dying of climax is enough, would always have been enough. He has never thought beyond this day except for Agron, Agron, Agron.  Gods what is this love he has?  It is deeper than breathing, simple as blinking, unthinking.  He possesses no past, no future - nothing except his love and his life which was always Agron from moment it began, and none of him does not love Agron.) and the fear has never left Agron, he has been a fool since long ago: He should have waited.  He should have lived first and then loved Nasir.

Nasir’s eyes are dry because he is wrung dry like dessicated sea-sponge, cannot weep anymore, not after Agron came back from the dead and the gods said, Try it again, be a better man for your man. 

And they just hold each other, holding and grasping and gasping and if this is the last time, can it be the best time?  It cannot be, it hurts too badly for that, but it can be the _most_ time: the most intense, the most floating feeling time, the weakest, trembling knee time, and Agron is the only thing holding Nasir up until he lifts his boy into his arms (without hands his arms are still bullish and huge and he can do this, and knows that Nasir loves that he still can do this) and lays him down so that their legs tangle and Agron is the huge over Nasir’s small and this was the wrong thing to do, because Nasir is so tiny, so soft silken fresh-minted boy that the killer in Agron turns repentant, regretful, guilty, lost and little like Nasir is little and lost in the curves of Agron’s bulk.

(But the killer cannot die, not until the last Roman does or the first Agron does and what is in him that makes him this way?  Duro is in him, Germania is in him, Vengeance and Honor and this is the man he cannot stop being, not even for Nasir, and that is saying a lot, that is saying it _all._

And wouldn’t it be easier, despite the hurt, if Nasir did not understand?  If he said, No, you are going with me and living with me and I will not watch you die, I will not, I will _not_.)

(Yet Nasir does not understand, not truly.  Nasir is a warrior by circumstance, by nurture; even more so than Agron, Nasir is a lover by nature:   He understands only that his man needs to fly into fray with no hands and all heart and Nasir would not have chosen this - he could lay down his spear this moment and feel that he has done enough, killed enough, is free enough - but:

_Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee, for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God:_

_where thou diest, will I die, and there I will be buried._ )

Agron takes Nasir without foreplay, without preamble or pomp or show, and  every stroke deep inside of Nasir is a marvel at what he has, an apology for what he is.

And Nasir is run through with fear, with love, with Agron, Agron, Agron, and when Nasir sobs (his eyes wide open, staring, adoring, the open-mouthed wail of an impotent tantrum, and this is the closet he will ever come to saying NO, and they both know it), Agron cries…


End file.
